


best friends, better benefits

by incode



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ? in a way??, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Facials, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Study, So much kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9742829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incode/pseuds/incode
Summary: Phichit really, really likes smoking Yuuri out.(This is what he loves about being intimate with Yuuri, because itisso intimate, so low-pressure, so quiet and sweet. With things this heated, Phichit usually loses himself, goes too quick, burns himself out; but Yuuri, calm, soft Yuuri, tempers him down even in his own frenzy.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i did not proof this because i do not proof things so feel free to attempt to make sense of it, at your own risk.  
> had an upload error the first time around. happy late valentine's day.
> 
> this story does contain marijuana and detailed descriptions of its ingestion as a central theme, just in case that bothers you
> 
> i love comments, they keep me writing this stuff! that could be a good or bad thing
> 
> also say hi over on [tumblr](http://shakenhoney.tumblr.com/)

 

Phichit really, really likes smoking Yuuri out.

For one thing, he actually _relaxes_ when he gets high. Phichit can track the THC moving through him like ticking off items on a list: the tension in his shoulders, the way he’ll sit slumped against the bed when his posture is usually stock-straight, the way he throws his head back and laughs at the _worst_ snickered jokes, Phichit’s running commentary of whatever movie they’re watching.

Yuuri is always so profusely thankful, and always promises that he’ll pay him back soon, but they both know Phichit always has the better shit. Yuuri is too stubborn to ask who his hookup is, and Phichit knows he’d be too shy to go to him anyway. They have a routine, the two of them, but the truth is that Phichit doesn’t mind. Not when Yuuri giggles and nuzzles into Phichit’s neck.

Maybe it’s selfish, Phichit thinks. To look forward to this so much, these nights when neither of them have classes the next day - they’d planned it that way, arranging their schedules for the semester, and asked Celestino to give them that day, too. Lazy Sunday. Their Sunday. Their Saturday night, usually spent on the town in some respect or another, but about half the time all Yuuri wants to do is lie in bed and chill, and Phichit never takes issue with it. Because Yuuri is cute, soft against him, and warm, and he lets Phichit play with his hips, thumbs massaging into the hollows of his hipbones. Phichit, with his back resting on the headboard, happily takes a bit more of Yuuri’s weight on him as Yuuri sighs. He starts mouthing at Phichit’s neck as one of Phichit’s hands roams up his stomach under his sweater, the other still gripping gently at Yuuri’s side.

It’s not going anywhere, not yet. It doesn’t have to. It feels good to touch, to be present, to be a little high and a little floaty and very close. Phichit’s tolerance is much, much higher than Yuuri’s because he smokes pretty much nightly and his weed is so potent, but he’s feeling Yuuri’s high draw him in and he feeds off it, heady, swooping down over him heavy and soft. He feels the delayed tremor in Yuuri’s abdomen as he drags his fingertips over the muscle, and Yuuri’s lips press to the underside of Phichit’s jaw, kissing and nibbling and it’s so good, and Phichit tells him so, gasps as his fingers curl and his nails dig into Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri moans against his throat and his teeth vibrate with it as he sets them into Phichit’s skin. Bites.

Phichit kneels up, thighs framing Yuuri’s hips, and leans down over his shoulder for a real kiss, one that steals his breath away as Yuuri uses those sharp teeth of his again on his bottom lip, catches it between them before sliding his tongue into his mouth. Phichit shifts around to get a better angle and cups Yuuri’s jaw to hold him where he wants him. He comes down over him to deepen the kiss and sighs into his mouth, and then he gets an absolutely brilliant idea.

He reaches for his pipe, and the little metal nightstand clatters loudly as the Bic lighter skids off it and onto the floor, hitting the leg on the way down. Yuuri jumps, and Phichit soothes him down, hand reassuring on his side, even as he swears and leans over to retrieve it. He loads the pipe from his little jar, packs it down tight and lights up and inhales as Yuuri turns to sit across from him on the bed with his legs criss-cross. Phichit shuts his eyes as he inhales for a long time, holds the smoke in his lungs as he leans forward, and he grasps the too-long hair at the back of Yuuri’s head. Yuuri’s mouth falls open _perfectly_ for Phichit to tilt his head and slot their lips together. He exhales into Yuuri’s mouth and hears his tiny gasp before he catches on and begins breathing in the smoke.

Phichit gives him a moment to compose himself and then goes back to kissing him, shifting forward on his knees to hold him tighter, crowding up into him, and Yuuri’s hands go into Phichit’s hair as well, holding him and directing the kiss. He smells like pears, like white blossoms, fresh flowers, and the musk that hazes over them both. Feeling intoxicated on more levels than one, Phichit climbs further into Yuuri’s lap, nudging his legs open with his knee and then straddling one thigh. Yuuri’s body goes tight and he gasps into the kiss, hand sliding up Phichit’s scalp as his hips kick up for more contact with Phichit’s thigh.

He pulls back for some air, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s a couple more times before finally breaking them apart. His lungs feel clear and wonderful, and his head feels pleasantly swimmy. Yuuri looks at him, eyes wide and dilated in pleasure and anticipation even with how they’re a little red at the corners. Phichit feels himself melt a little. Because he loves Yuuri, loves him not like this but exactly like this at the same time, this entirely foreign concept to him of separating romance and sex. He trusts Yuuri and knows Yuuri trusts him, and it’s as simple as that; everything with Yuuri is so easy. They mesh so well as roommates, as rinkmates, their support of one another unconditional and undemanding. Nothing is draining about being around his best friend; his energy invigorates him, and if Phichit is grateful enough to let him smoke his weed and fuck him, if he likes his hard-won body appreciated like only a fellow skater can, he feels all right with that, at peace with those urges.

Yuuri can’t seem to keep his hands off him - he reaches out and puts a hand on Phichit’s thigh as Phichit lights the pipe again. This time he offers it to Yuuri, and Yuuri takes a nice, long hit, holds his breath as Phichit holds the pipe aside and gets close again.

He always forgets how erotic this feels. Yuuri’s shockingly controlled exhale gives Phichit just enough, almost too little, craving more and more as they shift against each other and Phichit finally gets his legs around Yuuri’s waist and grinds them together as the groin. Yuuri snickers and rests his forehead against Phichit’s shoulder. His hands go back into Phichit’s hair and he pulls, slow, dragging his nails down through it over his scalp. He tugs harder when Phichit moans, sounding broken and soft, and Yuuri’s lips attach to the column of his neck. He boldly sucks a bruise into the thin skin just above his collarbone on the right side and Phichit’s voice breaks again; it goes high and breathy, whining.

“Not _fair,”_ he protests when Yuuri finally pulls away, having swept his tongue over the wound to soothe it. “You _know_ how much I love that.”

Yuuri smiles, not as sheepish and shy as he normally would. He looks pleased with himself. “Your fault you show your weaknesses so easily,” he declares. Yuuri’s cock is hard against him and Phichit leans back, braces himself on his hands behind him, lets Yuuri feel as his ass grinds against him. Yuuri’s head tips back in a groan.

“Baby,” Phichit coos, because he knows that’s a weakness of Yuuri’s, “come here.” Yuuri comes down over him to press them together and kiss as Phichit blindly places the weed back on the bedside table, and then he lets himself sink into it, feeling surrounded and over-warm. Phichit’s hand slides around Yuuri’s neck, cupping him at the nape, fiddling with the loose strands there. Yuuri’s right hand is on Phichit’s hip and his other elbow is on the bed, propping him up. Yuuri moans into the kiss as Phichit bends his knees and opens his hips, slotting them together more heavily. Yuuri’s hips rock absently into him and Phichit moans back, whispering little praises when Yuuri gets distracted by his jawline, trailing down, down…

“Wanna fuck you,” Phichit says feverishly, jarring in the quiet between them, “wanna fuck your thighs. Can I?” Yuuri pulls back, blinks at him owlishly. Then he reaches for the lube, next to the pipe on the table, smiling. Phichit grins back, taking Yuuri’s cheeks in both hands and planting a loud, wet, smacking kiss on his forehead, the same type of proud kiss he’d give him to embarrass him in public.

“Why do you always ruin the mood like that?” Yuuri sighs. Given that he says this at the same time as he’s shoving his track pants down to wrap a wet hand around his hard dick, Phichit calls his bluff easily. But he doesn’t mention it, lets him have it as he sits up with him to nuzzle into his shoulder. He takes the bottle of lube from where Yuuri’s put it beside them and pours some directly onto Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri gasps indignantly, though his hips jerk and his cock slides all the way through his hand. “You’re not supposed to get it… all over me!” he chides, faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Says who?” says Phichit. He takes his thumbs to Yuuri’s skin, rubbing the oil into his sartorius from his inner thigh. Yuuri’s leg shakes reflexively. “This is for massage as much as it is for sex,” Phichit elaborates, digging his thumb into a knot he finds further down, a few inches above Yuuri’s knee. His leg bends and he leans back, legs open and bare, groaning as he jerks himself off. Phichit leans down to kiss his kneecap and trails his lips down his calf, ignoring Yuuri’s good-humored, slightly questioning look. He kisses at the arch of Yuuri’s foot, tender and bruised; Yuuri shivers rather violently and squirms, but his eyes go heavy-lidded and soft as he regards Phichit below him. On a whim, Phichit takes his middle toe into his mouth and sucks, and he does not miss how Yuuri’s fist speeds up on his dick, the way his back arches in midair. He laughs as he pulls away, and he kisses Yuuri’s ankle, a barely-there brush of his lips.

“Turn over, baby,” he says. Yuuri rolls over obediently and sticks his butt up into the air, his sweater riding down to expose the small of his back, a slight sheen of sweat glimmering in the dimples above his ass. It’s so hot that Phichit has to take a moment to simply sweep his hands over Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri would usually be impatient for it but perhaps the weed is making him less so.

He rests his palm against Yuuri’s back and studies his ass, and Yuuri shivers, maybe a little cold, maybe a bit self-conscious, but he’s quiet as Phichit continues touching him, squeezing his cheeks in turn and then down at his thighs. With Yuuri’s legs parted like this, he can reach up between them and cup his cock, feel how hard he is, wet with the precome dripping from the head and the lube he’d slicked himself up with earlier. He spreads his fingers apart so the tips touch Yuuri’s tummy and brings them down in a V to the base of his cock, the slight webbing between them dragging over his skin. Yuuri jerks and tries to hump into the light touch but before he can get much more friction, Phichit pulls away. He smiles at the way Yuuri reacts to his teasing, always loves his reactions, the way his body takes over and calls the shots, as intrinsic as his skating. Phichit takes both hands away for just a moment, just to see how Yuuri arches for touch.

He squeezes some more lube into his hand and spreads it on Yuuri’s inner thighs, and Yuuri purrs, going down to his elbows to present more effectively. Phichit smiles again. “So pretty, baby,” he says affectionately, “so good. You’re so good.”

“Phichit,” Yuuri whines, shifting his hips back and forth, “I’m so _high.”_ It might be the fact that he is, too, but something about it, juxtaposed with what they’re doing, makes Phichit burst out laughing, and he leans down to muffle it against Yuuri’s side, lips against his skin.

“I know, sweetheart,” Phichit says, and he shifts around to behind him, shoving his own practice leggings down to palm at his cock, hard and heavy in his hand. He presses up against Yuuri and slips his hands around his sides to hold him still as he rocks into him, cock dragging torturously slow against the cleft of Yuuri’s ass. The head catches suddenly on his hole, and it makes them both tremble and moan, Yuuri dropping even lower so his cheek is pressed against the bed, arching more dramatically, and Phichit shuffles forward a little more so the fronts of his thighs are flush against the backs of Yuuri’s. Yuuri’s calves are under him, and he crosses his ankles over one another, joining his legs for Phichit to push into.

The breach is so tight and so wet that Phichit can’t help but let out a low moan. Yuuri’s skin has just the right amount of give, and if he angles it right he can brush the head of his cock against Yuuri’s balls on the instroke, making Yuuri moan loudly and with abandon. His body is still so open and relaxed from the weed, even as he tenses up each time Phichit draws back, trying to keep him close; Phichit admires him, the musculature of his back where the sweater rides is slipped up to bare all the way to his shoulders in this position and the curves of his strong hips. He presses back against Phichit, grinds his ass against his stomach, reaches beneath him to jack himself off. His hips are moving in slow circles as Phichit fucks him lazily.

And this is what he loves about being intimate with Yuuri, because it _is_ so intimate, so low-pressure, so quiet and sweet. With things this heated, Phichit usually loses himself, goes too quick, burns himself out; but Yuuri, calm, soft Yuuri, tempers him down even in his own frenzy. It could also be the weed, of course. It could be the delectable high he’s riding as he fucks him, the way he never quite wants this to end fighting off the pleasure roiling in his stomach.

Yuuri moans like he’s close to coming, though Phichit knows he’s not; he knows of Yuuri’s stamina, his ability to bring himself to the edge and slide slowly back down, over and over. It’s been the focal point of more than one of their nights together, teasing Yuuri with his mouth and hands until he buried fingers in his ass and made him come on those, digging into his prostate, watching his cock spurt and jump freely again and again until he was milked of everything he’d had. Yuuri loves those long, slow orgasms, so deeply satisfying, and he gets remarkably cuddly after them, so Phichit is careful to reserve those games for when he really needs to be squeezed and loved on. The truth is, the hottest thing in the world might be watching Yuuri come completely undone, hearing his needy whines and seeing him fight to keep his hands off himself.

Phichit daydreams of tying Yuuri up, wrists to the headboard and rendered helpless while he sucks him down, and his hips drive home a little harder, a little faster. Yuuri moans something incoherent into the mattress; his voice is muffled, and Phichit has to pause to ask in order to hear him over the obscene squelching and the slap of his hips against Yuuri’s thighs.

Yuuri turns his head and rubs his cheek against the bed; Phichit supposes he’s feeling rather fuzzy. “I said, want you to come on my face,” Yuuri mumbles. The words hit Phichit like a brick, and suddenly it’s all he can think about; he groans at the loss of Yuuri’s tight thighs but follows as he rolls over, kneeling around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri’s eyes are watering and red, but he smiles gently up at Phichit and Phichit cranes his body rather creatively to kiss him, working very gently at his own cock, before straightening up to stroke himself, dick hovering just above Yuuri’s chin.

Yuuri opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out, even darts it up to flick at the head of Phichit’s cock. Phichit growls and slumps forward; he catches himself on his free hand before he recovers, and he pushes his thumb into Yuuri’s swollen bottom lip as he sits back again. “‘m close,” he whispers, urgently, “ _God,_ Yuuri, baby, I’m _close_ i’mclosei’mclose.” Yuuri just moans, tilting his head back, eyes still trained on Phichit’s. That look is what does it, that smug, sexy look Yuuri gives him, like he loves it, like he knows what he does to him and like all he wants is Phichit’s load on his face.

Thick ropes of come land on Yuuri’s lips and cheek and he laps up what he can, tongue tracing over his own mouth. Phichit’s back bows and he goes forward again, and Yuuri kisses his belly, the dips between his muscles, making a final tremor of pleasure run through Phichit’s sex-sated body.

_“Fuck,”_ he says emphatically, and he shakes himself and crawls down the bed to let Yuuri’s cock sink into his mouth without much ado. Yuuri throws an arm over his eyes and groans. He lets Phichit suckle and lick at him, thoroughly enjoying himself, sloppy and noisy; Yuuri’s free hand trembles, gripping tight to Phichit’s shoulder.

Phichit pulls off to work him with his hand and nibble at his belly, the little swell of excess just below the muscle well-defined there from all their training-season crunches. Yuuri _whimpers,_ absolutely, unmistakably whimpers, and Phichit feels his spent cock stir at the sound. He hums appreciatively, pushes his lips to the side of Yuuri’s cock to let him feel it, and Yuuri yelps and wiggles, probably oversensitive. Phichit laughs a little and tickles his side, the softest brush of the pads of his fingers, and when Yuuri manages to turn enough to get away he squeezes his knee, his other weak spot. Yuuri huffs and sits up, and Phichit’s laughter turns into a broken whine when he grabs Phichit’s hair and yanks him up to him, kisses him hard and dominant. He surges up to him as Yuuri rolls them mid-kiss, pinning Phichit’s arms down to the bed, and he grinds down _hard,_ his dick right against Phichit’s own, hard and leaking wet enough for the slide to be deliciously slick. Phichit’s head reels. Yuuri growls and bites and kisses at his neck, right over the bite marks he’d left earlier.

It’s Yuuri’s turn to laugh as he pulls back to get a good look at Phichit; and then he sighs softly, happily, lets his wrists go in favor of running a hand through Phichit’s hair. It’s the softest kind of caress and Phichit melts into it, closing his eyes his body immediately remembering that it’s exhausted and ready to curl up warm and soft for the rest of the evening. But Yuuri hasn’t come yet, and Phichit reaches out to finish taking care of it for him, pushing his nails into Yuuri’s stomach and making him gasp as he jacks him slow and tight, just the way he knows Yuuri likes it.

Yuuri’s orgasm is a monumental, shivery thing, and so pretty to watch. He rubs his ass against Phichit’s thigh where he straddles him, fists his hands in the bedspread, arches his back so elegantly as come dribbles down Phichit’s hand. A bit gets on each of their stomachs. Phichit squeezes Yuuri’s cock from base to tip in rhythm, working him right through to the end, and then he rubs the heel of his hand against the underside of the head, where Yuuri has to be most sensitive, and it forces just a little more out.

Yuuri’s jaw is set tight, all of him tense by the time Phichit finally lets him down. He pulls Yuuri down to him and smiles at him before he initiates a kiss, and it feels nice, so nice, to _feel_ Yuuri like this, to feel his sweat, his body, his happiness. Phichit cares for him so much, doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend he’s had such a connection with. Certainly never a friend with whom he could share _this,_ this most vulnerable and primal part of themselves, and without any expectation or miscommunication. Honesty and pleasure, and Phichit can’t think of two better words to describe their relationship.

They kiss for a long time. Phichit laces his own hands together at the small of Yuuri’s back, occasionally reaching down to squeeze and smack his ass, and Yuuri jumps every time he does, so he’s careful to use it sparingly for he delights in the reaction so much. He digs his nails in and Yuuri bites his tongue, sharp, and Phichit gasps and then laughs into the kiss.

“Hey,” he says, breaking away with great effort. “Hey, get the.” He gestures vaguely toward the head of the bed, behind Yuuri. They’re all askew and it’ll take less effort for Yuuri to reach; Phichit feels like lying here and letting him do the work. Yuuri comes back with the glass pipe, the lighter, and he sits up with it in his hands, looking down at Phichit and bouncing playfully on him.

“Oof,” Phichit says, a little startled by Yuuri’s movement. “You were good at that,” he praises, nodding toward his pipe as he lets his fingers trail over Yuuri’s hips again. “You wanna do it for me again?”

“Not sure how you can be good at something like this,” Yuuri says doubtfully, but he’s already lighting the bowl. His blue sweater is so oversized that the sleeves hang down and halfway cover his hands. He looks kind of hot when he smokes, Phichit realizes, the way his eyebrows furrow just slightly as he concentrates on timing it right. He leans down and presses their lips together again, mouths wide open, and Phichit feels himself flying against almost immediately, less from the drug and more from Yuuri’s radiant sweetness, as their lips attach to each other more firmly, having breathed in all the smoke.


End file.
